


She-wolf, exiled

by BombGirlPow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-15 13:05:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11806575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BombGirlPow/pseuds/BombGirlPow
Summary: Contrary to the narrative, Lyanna did not die in the Tower of Joy. Forced to flee her homeland with her newborn son, Lyanna finds herself in the land of Essos, with an unlikely ally calling upon her presence.This is a drabble prompt from doublehex over on Tumblr for our drabble challenge A Fortnight ofJonerys. Lyanna and Rhaella marriage pact between Jon and Dany AU.





	1. The She-wolf and The Dragon Matriarch

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to all! This is a prompt fill for doublehex. Please check out my Tumblr (bombgirlpow) for any more info if you're interested! 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy It! Pardon any grammatical errors.

She was no longer Lyanna Stark. That woman had died in a cloistered room of blood and dried, perfumed roses. Found by Ned Stark and reported dead to the Usurper Robert Baratheon. Raped and discarded. 

Or so Ned had told the realm. 

In the truth of it he had found her having had just given birth, tired and slicked with sweat. But alert. Alive and strong. 

He came with news that her husband the Prince had died on the Trident. Crushed by the man she loathed. The Targaryen dynasty shattered along with his breastplate. With the joy of her son’s birth came a despair that threatened to break her just as a hammer had broken Rhaegar. 

Ned - quiet, gentle Ned - was sickened with grief over what her actions have sown. Upon the bad news came the weight of what her’s and Rhaegar’s actions have done to the realm. To the Starks. 

But he didn't understand. Nobody could understand what their union actually meant. Seven Hells, she could barely understand. But with the omens and Green Dreams that lied upon her weary brow, and the prophesies that Rhaegar had seen and studied - a darkness was coming. And only the Prince Who was Promised can bring the dawn.

Her Aegon.

The boy was bent down low now, digging in the soil of Illyrio Mopatis’s great garden with his aunt Dany searching for toads. He was smiling quietly to himself, little Dany as always leading their newest adventure amongst the hydrangeas. 

Jon was the name Ned gave to him before he helped smuggle them out of Westeros. To keep them safe, nobody could ever know of his lineage. But whispers were hard to kill and soon word got out of a young woman and infant son of Westerosi descent wandering about the Free Cities with a Dornish sword in hand, doing odds and ends to survive. 

She had been careless and it could've been the death of them both. But after years of roaming their salvation seemed to appear at last. Sometimes whispers make themselves known to the right ears.

Queen Rhaella, exiled in her own right had summoned them. She had escaped the rocky shores of Dragonstone after giving birth to a baby girl and fled east with her son and daughter in hand. Having been the former Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the woman was strong in the game and had found fortune with powerful friends. It was amongst one of them that Lyanna now found herself. 

She tentatively picked at one of the grapes piled in a bowl that was meant to break her fast. She couldn't help but be wary by it all. In the three weeks she and her son had been guests here she had only had the chance to briefly speak with the Queen once, which was interrupted by fever dreams and coughing fits.

Tragically, Rhaella was quite crippled in Daenerys’s birth five years past. A complication that teetered on the brink of death for both mother and child. Fortune had won out in the end and they had survived, but at a great cost of the Queen’s longevity and health.

Today however she was finally fit enough to be brought to the gardens to break fast with Lyanna. And with her visit came concern over what she would say and think of the woman who had run off with her son for a love that had broken the realm apart. 

She had only been alone in the garden for around twenty minutes or so when she spotted the small painted palanquin across the way carried by servants. The Queen sat atop, weary but alert, with nary an emotion to betray what was on her mind. Lyanna tensed at this, mind searching and failing to figure out what this conversation could have in store for her and Jon. She didn't like being so woefully unprepared and Rhaella refused to budge in countenance.

“You are Lyanna Stark yes? Come, stand up and let me take a look at you, girl.” 

Lyanna forced herself to bite down on her tongue until she tasted copper. She wasn't some sort of kennel bitch to be inspected, and were this a few years ago, she would have voiced as such.

My son. Think of Jon.

She stood slowly, keeping her eyes to the ground as she dusted off the gown loaned to her by the master of the house. Her temper cooled to a simmer, the mantra of her son on her mind, and she lifted her chin as respectfully as she could muster to meet Rhaella’s eyes. 

And what she saw in return took all the rage from her heart and replaced it with pity. 

Gone were the strong eyes of a Queen. In their stead were dull, sunken eyes lined with dark rings in a face that must have once upon a time been strikingly beautiful. They were Rhaegar’s eyes - a dark indigo turned darker still with sickly exhaustion. Her heart wrenched in her chest to behold such a sight. 

The Queen’s mouth pulled tightly into a frown at Lyanna’s reaction. “ Ah, yes, I'm not what I once was, but there's still plenty of fire in me yet, even in this body that is half a ways to death.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, as if being upright pained her. “It looks as if out of the two of us I shall be seeing Rhaegar much sooner than his stick thin northern girl of a wife.” 

Lyanna closed her eyes in frustration. Appearances were deceiving. This was a woman who was not to be pitied. Her body might be frail, but her mind was as sharp as ever. Rhaegar had told her that his mother was a kind woman, yet smart as a whip, like herself. He assured her that they would get along great once they met, but things seemed to be off at a poor start. 

“To discard that Dornish woman for a child like you.” She clicked her tongue, “Oh, my Rhaegar you must've turned mad.”

That was more than enough. Gone were the polite platitudes and pretending. The she-wolf could handle blows to her person but not to those whom she loved, “Why is it that you brought me here Rhaella? To mock me? To drag my husband’s - your son’s - memory through the muck? Criticize me all you want but leave the dead lying or I shall leave at once and take Rhaegar’s son with me!”

Rhaella’s expression changed immediately, and a small, knowing smile lit upon her face, disarming Lyanna once more. She almost looked amused. 

“Is that the way you talk to Queens, my lady?” her smile only grew. Lyanna found herself dumbfounded again. “Good,” she continued, “I'm not a damn Queen anymore. That title died when my bastard husband was gutted through by that Lannister ponce. I should hate the boy for being a turncloak, but with Aerys…”

She lowered her voice once more to avoid being overheard by the children. They remained thus far unaffected by their morning rendezvous and carried on as if nothing else existed in this world except each other and some praying mantises that they had happened to corner. Lyanna could hear Dany’s delighted scream as Jon batted a twig towards the little insects, causing a flurry of jabs. If nothing else could be gained by their stay, Lyanna was happy enough to see her son playing with another child. Being on the run had been hard for Jon...

Rhaella’s shushed voice broke her from her reverie, “Ice must be running through your veins with such a temper.” she eyed her appraisingly. “And to speak of the dead as you do? Far better than me.” she nodded to herself, “must be all that fabled Northern Honor I've heard about. No wonder he loved you. Elia was far too docile and soft minded for that book worm son of mine.” 

Lyanna fidgeted nervously. She wasn't entirely sure what Rhaella was getting at. Guilt had followed her for many years over what had happened to Elia Martell - a fate worse than death because she was at the wrong place at the wrong time. All because Lyanna had stolen her husband away...no. She sighed. It was annulled. Rhaegar had been like her. Stuck in a betrothal that made them each miserable.

Better to leave regrets and ghosts at rest where they belong. 

“You didn't answer my question,” she thought briefly upon the former queen’s title and how to address her now, “my lady.” She added, attempting to avoid sounding glib, but failing. Her temper was hard to take a hold of once lost. 

Rhaella reached a shaky hand out to a goblet of wine and took a small sip. “I wanted to see the boy. I wanted to see if there was any piece of my son left in the world.” 

Lyanna frowned. Was it all a dying woman’s last wish, or was there something more the Targaryen matriarch wanted of them? To have such powerful reach amongst the Free Cities - enough to find a Westerosi woman by the name of Lya Sand and her young son in an area of thousands...and piece fractured details together to meticulously paint the truth...it must've taken months - years maybe. 

She turned towards the children and called out to her son, “Jon, sweetling, come here lad.”

The children looked up curiously, their pretend world popped like a bubble. Jon scrubbed back the dark, boyish curls from his face, dirt trailing where his fingers connected, and trotted over to his mother. “My dear I'd like you to meet this woman here.” she paused, wondering how to present the former queen, and settled on the truth. “She's your grandmother.”

Jon. Sweet, docile Jon decided instead to waiver behind his mother’s skirts, appearing momentarily nervous by the sickly woman he had never met before.

Rhaella’s eyes softened. “Come here lad. I promise I won't bite. I'm just not feeling well, you see.” Her voice soothed. She sounded completely different addressing Jon than she had earlier when talking to Lyanna. A mother’s voice. Something Lyanna knew all too well. It seemed to even soften up something inside of herself as well. 

The boy’s eyes lit in curiosity as he forgot all of his previous anxiety and approached her side. “You're sick?” 

She nodded, “I am. But I'm starting to feel a little bit better. It's a lovely garden isn't it?”

He thought intensely on it. That was Jon. He listened to just about everything and pondered for what seemed an eternity before deciding on the very best answer. 

“Me and Dany caught toads and bugs.” He looked back towards his new friend who was busily ripping the petals off of a fallen Oleander blossom. “Yes, I think it's really fun here.” he paused, thinking back to exactly what she had said, and nodded, almost solemnly “A lovely garden.”

The woman choked out something between a delighted laugh and a cough - which trailed off into smaller coughs - and her dull eyes seemed to brighten once more. She took another sip of wine, “You're a smart lad aren't you Jon? Your mother must be very proud of you.” She beckoned him closer, to which he politely obeyed. “I have something for you. It's only for clever children like yourself though, so you'll only like it if you practice at it daily okay?”

This seemed to pique his interest considerably as his eyes lit up and he glanced back towards his mother with a grin. Gifts were few and far between for a child in exile, and Lyanna couldn't help but smile back at the gesture.

From inside her robes, Rhaella procured a small children’s book. It was weathered and worn, but the intricately painted pictures of young maidens riding dragons remained upon it’s surface. “I've read this many times to all of my children. It's about dragons and knights and heroes and all of their adventures.” She ran her shaking fingers upon it’s surface, as if lost in fond memories. “You may be a little too young to read as you’ve only seen your sixth year-”

Jon interrupted excitedly, “I can read! I can read! Mum taught me!”

Lyanna sighed. “Jon, proper lads don't say ‘mum’.” 

Rhaella’s smile only deepened at his enthusiasm. She leaned down as far as her pain would allow and handed over the little book while studying his expression. 

The grin he had softened and faded, shifting back into a thoughtful glance towards the book, as if thinking hard about what ‘proper lads’ should say upon receiving gifts. 

“Thank you.” He then turned his full attention to her face and studied her. “Are you really my grandmother?”

The warmth in her eyes brought her beauty out once more. It almost betrayed nothing of her illness. “Yes Jon. I would very much like to think that I am. Would you like to have a grandmother?” 

He nodded, staring at her intensely. “I've never had one before. Mum -mother,” he corrected himself, “says that her mother died when she was really little. I think that's sad.” He looked back towards Lyanna, “I'm glad I have mine.” He glanced thoughtfully at the book again, an idea spreading across his face. “I can read to you later if you'd like. I'm not a baby. I can read good.”

Lyanna’s grinned with pride, “Well, Jon. You can read well.” 

“Yes,” he agreed, “I can read well…” he paused and decided to smile up to his grandmother. 

The former Queen chuckled and ruffled his curls. “I should like that, but your mother and I have many things to chat about at this moment. Why don't you go and read to Dany? This is her favorite book after all.” 

Jon beamed at showing off his skills to his friend and moved to bound away - not before giving a hasty hug and quick thanks again. He settled upon a mossy patch of grass and Dany fell right beside him, her own head almost obscuring room for him to read. It was a heartwarming sight to behold. 

“He looks nothing like Rhaegar,” Rhaella’s words cut through Lyanna’s observations, making her somewhat tense again, “but I swear he mirrors him almost exactly in temperament at that age.”

Lyanna wasn't sure whether to frown or smile. Instead she settled on digging into her satchel for a scroll she carried around just for this occasion. “This is all the proof you shall need my lady,” she paused, and thoughtfully added, “if any doubt remains.”

Rhaella raised a quizzical, yet somewhat amused brow and unfurled the document. Within was a notarized and legally binding marital bond between her and Rhaegar, along with the birth of their son Aegon Targaryen VI. 

Rhaella sniffed, “I suppose Elia’s deceased son is no longer the sixth - What with the annulment. Nor mine own, that had perished in infancy. Too many damn Aegons if you ask me.” she handed back the document to a somewhat offended Lyanna, adding, “Rhaegar was obsessed with his prophesies I suppose. If they prove true then it's fitting.”

“They are true.” Lyanna insisted, “ever since I was a child I've dreamt the Green Dreams of the First Men. I didn't understand the omens at first...but Rhaegar...it was almost as if he could read my mind and sort it all out.” she wrapped her arms around herself protectively, feeling alone once more, “with Rhaegar...I've never felt more understood in my life.” 

The elder woman smiled sadly in response. “That was my Rhaegar. From highborn, to common man. He always sought to understand and empathize.” she sighed, “He would have been the greatest King Westeros had ever seen.” 

The pause between them grew as images of the past floated before their eyes. Fond ones. Sad ones. All gone now because of a jealous man and a mad man each took the Seven Kingdoms by it's throat and tore it asunder. 

The former queen's voice cut through the reverie like a knife, “That duty now falls to your son’s shoulders.”

Lyanna reeled about in shock. “Absolutely not!” the madness of the statement had blindsided her. “Jon will not be put on some wild crusade to win the Iron Throne back from that brute Robert Baratheon. I'm not going to endanger the life of my son for some sort of revenge or power grab!”

If Rhaella was insulted by the outburst she didn't show it. The children had looked up only briefly from Jon’s story telling to asses what his mother could be shouting about, only to decide that it was nothing nearly as interesting as the tales of Aemon the Dragonknight. 

Rhaella placed her goblet down and leaned back into her chair, a gesture of eschewing niceties in favor of harsh truths. “If your son is this Prince Who Is Promised, as you do so insist, do you really believe he will achieve said title, said greatness, by hiding behind his mother’s skirts? By remaining on par to a low born commoner? Do you really think he can unite peoples and lead armies against the Long Night moving from city to city in exile with a sellsword mother who can hardly get any work?”

The words struck Lyanna as if she were slapped. She had spent many a sleepless night pondering these exact things - agonizing over whether she would be able to fulfill Rhaegar’s dream of raising their son to fulfill an impossible destiny. Bemoaning the fact that it had to be him in the first place. Her young, sweet Jon. She remained speechless at last over the harsh words, unable to form one of the whip sharp rebuttals she was often known for. The She-wolf had been cornered at last. 

Rhaella nodded in understanding. “You can't protect him forever. Even if you try to shield him from the monsters of the world. Little boys grow up to be men -men who go off to war.” she sighed, remembering her own son, pain lingering in her eyes, “and sometimes they die…”

Lyanna’s hands curled up into fists, nails cutting into flesh. To lose Jon...she refused. He would not end up like Rhaegar. It was all so insurmountable and she didn't even know how to begin. She couldn't voice every painful thought that had been wound up in her chest over this for the past six years. 

Rhaella continued, somberly, yet emboldened, “Sometimes they live. Sometimes they live to do impossible and great things that change the face of the world for good.” she reached out to kindly touch Lyanna’s hand, which uncurled upon contact. “Sometimes, as mothers, we have to let our boys go to become the men they need to be. To allow them to kill the boy inside to become the men they are destined to be.”

Lyanna’s shoulders slumped in the face of the truth. A harsh one that she had been avoiding - running from even. She couldn't allow Rhaegar’s sacrifice to be for naught. She couldn't allow the realm to be covered in the darkness that was coming. “What should I…” she paused, asking for help was almost an unfathomable concept to her, “What should I do? What can I do? He's just a little boy…”

“He will become king. He will lead the armies of Westeros with my Viserys and Daenerys to crush the darkness to come. We will build allies, gain wealth from the ground up, and strengthen the Targaryen name and bloodline once more. Fire and Blood is my family’s motto. And we will reap Fire and Blood to pay the price that destiny demands. Whether we like it or not.”

It was a passion that Lyanna had not heard since Rhaegar was alive, mirrored so perfectly in his mother. It all sounded impossible, easy enough in words, but the details…

One of the last phrases stuck out oddly to Lyanna the most. “Strengthen the Targaryen’s name and bloodline? What do you mean?” curiosity stole out all of her other emotions immediately. 

Rhaella smirked knowingly, “Matrimony of course. Between my Dany and your Aegon.”

Jon. Making a betrothal for him without his consent sat ill within her mind. It had destroyed her and his father, even Rhaella too was subjected to betrothal gone wrong. And they were family. Sure it had been done many times in the past, both Targaryen and Stark had married brother to sister, or uncle to niece, but if it could be avoided…

She looked back to the reading children, who were enraptured over a depiction of some dragon or another. She sighed, “Aye, but are you not worried they could grow to hate one another? That it could one day end up like yours and Aerys betrothal? Violent or unloving? That they can in turn resent us and the moves we make to set in motion - a destiny they refuse?”

Rhaella smoothed her hands over her skirts, considering Lyanna’s concerns, “Aerys...was much older than I. And he had always displayed a sort of callousness that eventually lead to brutal cruelty. We didn't spend much time together before we were wed, which left me woefully unprepared for the sort of monster he turned out to be. What of you? Your own unwanted betrothal? Did you know the Baratheon man before you were to wed him?”

Lyanna shook her head, disliking having to think of the past once more, “No. Not much. All I knew of him is what my brother Ned told me. They were fostered together. And now that I think of it Ned had painted him in a much too kindly light given their friendship. Upon meeting him, I found him to be far too arrogant and pugnacious for my liking. Full of himself, and other women.”

Rhaella nodded in sympathy, “Rhaegar befell a similar fate to yourself, as you know. He didn't know Elia before their matrimony. She was beautiful but empty headed. Kind, but far too fanciful in thought to keep up with my Rhaegar. I hadn't seen him as unhappy as he was a moon into their marriage-”

“OW! SHE BIT ME!”

The older child Viserys, whom Lyanna had met only briefly a few times in the past few weeks screamed in pain. The women’s gazes snapped back towards the sound of shouting just in time to see Viserys strike his sister in response, and Jon launching himself into Viserys’ torso to defend her. The tackle took the elder boy to the ground, forcing him to defend himself by striking Jon upside the head. Danaeyrs started to bawl, startled by the violence, and ran back towards her mother for safety. 

“Jon! Enough! Unhand him!”

“VISERYS! To me! At once!”

Lyanna had to run over to unravel the boys who were all fists and rage. She placed Jon behind her and cursed his ill manners (though she must admit, a sense of pride for his chivalry mixed in as well). This is not what she needed at all. What kind of response would the elder Targaryen have for one of her guests pummeling her son into the ground? 

Viserys got up and stalked off, running to his mother, though far too old to be acting so craven in Lyanna’s mind, “That little shit stole OUR book.” he howled, “I want him gone, I want them thrown out into the streets for this, I want-”

Rhaella slapped him across the face, immediately cowing him into silence. She stood up upon weak, shaky legs, the first Lyanna had seen, all dragon’s fury consuming her. “YOU STUPID IGNORANT BOY. That child is your future king! Do you know what the penalty is for striking a king? Harm him again in my presence and it shall be you thrown into the streets, mark my word!”

Jon tugged on her skirts, eyes wide and bewildered at what he was hearing, “Mum, what is she talking about? What does she mean?” 

“Shh, it's okay sweetling, don't mind what she's saying. Go and take Dany back inside with your book - I'll find you come noon okay?” he wavered for a moment, clearly somewhat shaken, but decided to follow on with her request. He grabbed the younger girl by the hand, her tears clearly forgotten over the shock of her mother striking her brother’s face, and led her back over to the book and into the manse. 

Viserys deflated, defeated by his sickly mother. She sat back down upon the palanquin’s chair and weakly waved him off, clearly exhausted from the outburst. “Go, now. Out of my sight. I tire of your childish rages, and have no desire to deal with you right now.” she paused, thinking on her son’s actions, “Stay away from your sister and nephew too.” 

Viserys must've briefly considered defying her command, seeing her in a weakened state, but ultimately decided against arguing. He left in a huff, shooting Lyanna a dirty glance before passing her. She shuffled awkwardly on her feet. 

“Children.” Rhaella shrugged as she took another sip of wine to clear her now raspy throat. “He's a good boy, usually. But he often gets jealous and possessive. Perhaps I should discipline him more.” she sighed, “not that It'll be much of an effect whilst I'm chair and bed bound.”

Lyanna said nothing in response, unsure of what to say in the moment. The Targaryen tsked as if suddenly remembering her line of thought, “Ah yes, where were we - Matrimony. I was trying to make a point before that blasted son of mine needlessly caused trouble. My point is,” she leaned closer, and beckoned for Lyanna to sit back down, close enough to hear her faltering voice, “the children won't be clueless of it. I want them to have what we didn't have. A chance to know each other. A chance to grow together and perhaps fall in love.” she paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts on how to best word what she meant, “though that's not necessary. It will grounded as a political bond. But if they can learn to work together - to overcome what has befallen house Targaryen together - I think a marriage would be more than a welcome comfort in a world that is against them. A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing indeed.”

Lyanna leaned back in her own chair to consider what Rhaella was proposing. Thus far, the two children seemed like peas in a pod. But how can one base an entire lifetime off of children’s fancies? Rhaella was right though. Lyanna couldn't shield him from the world forever. If Jon is to be the Prince Who Was Promised, if he is destined to stop the horrors of the Long Night, he’ll need allies. Powerful ones. And perhaps this was the first place to start. 

Dany seems enough of a sweet girl, with a kind, playful spirit. Her brother Viserys gave her pause though, and she briefly wondered if he had been the same at her age. It was a worrying notion, to be sure, but she could not know unless she saw more of the girl, watched her age some years. 

She now found herself at a crossroads. This choice was the precipice of something big. She could either deny the request, take Jon's hand and leave...or she could say yes, sell his future away, possibly even his happiness, leaving it in the hands of Rhaella and who Daenerys was to become, and finally start his destiny in motion. A way to finally uphold the promise she made to Rhaegar.

“You...you actually believed him? About the prophecy?” She wrung her hands together, almost wishing it to be so, “Do you believe me?” the only way she would agree to this is if Rhaella proved to be true to Rhaegar’s cause. She couldn't continue with a pact knowing a potential Ally - a big one - was simply using her and her son for political gain.

Rhaella’s face remained open and honest, betraying no falsehoods. A mother’s face. She chuckled a little, “My dear, before my son had wives to confer in, it was my own ear that heard of his sorrows, his wishes, his dreams. He talked endlessly to me over the prophecies and nightmares he's seen, over the documents he's read, and the fears he had. A mother is always her son’s first true friend, and knowing Rhaegar as well as I did - he was not his father. He was not mad. He was kind, and bright and brave.” she paused, giving more thought towards Lyanna’s question, eyes unclouded and sincere, “so the answer is yes. I believed in my son, and I will always -always believe in him.” she nodded towards the younger woman, “as I believe in you. I must because he did.”  
A wave of emotion washed over Lyanna in that moment. She had been alone with her son for years, desperate and fleeing for their safety. Always looking over her shoulder, always sleeping with an eye open. And now…

She let out a shaky breath. Now she had found someone who understood. Rhaella understood everything -from Rhaegar, to the prophecies, to motherhood even. Perhaps she and Jon were safe now. Perhaps they finally had a place to rest their heads, a shoulder to lean on.

After a few more tense moments of consideration, Lyanna wiped the hopeful sentiments from her mind and finally came to a determined decision. “Yes.” she nodded to herself, as if to steel her resolve, “so far that seems to be the best option. I really have nothing else.” she stuck her hand out, an offer of solidarity, “I accept your proposal to betroth my son to your daughter. Together we will take back the Seven Kingdoms, and we will end the Night to Come.”

Rhaella’s smile lit up her face, as she took Lyanna’s hand and shook it as firmly as she could muster, “The Targaryens will rise again from the ashes. And with it my son’s death will not be in vain. As you Starks are so fond of saying, Winter is Coming my lady. We will band together and defeat it.”


	2. Storm Upon a Maiden's Sigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gets a visit from Dany as a storm rages on outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is going to be somewhat of a patchwork of oneshots that weave into greater story. The chapters will go back and forth in time occasionally. This particular chapter takes place about nine years after chapter one. Enjoy!

Jon winced as his bruised eye made contact with his pillow while tossing and turning in a fruitless attempt to force himself to sleep. The storm outside of his window was raging on loudly, mirroring the anger that had yet to dissipate in his chest from the events that had occurred earlier that day.

Summer storms were quite sudden and common here in Essos, with nary a forewarning to their arrival. The day had started out fine enough, and Jon had found himself in a rather good mood despite the oppressive humidity. All of that had been ruined however when his mother had insisted - rather nagged - that Jon ought to take his Uncle outside for a spot of air and sunshine to train with the sword. This of course was her solution to get two bickering teenaged boys out of her hair instead of dealing with the problem. 

Why of course mother! Thrusting tourney swords into the hands of near mortal enemies so they could get a spot of fresh air sounds like a delightfully logical idea. Oh and the black eye? A mere jovial disagreement over differing forms of swordsmanship. The sand that Viserys threw to blind him before the sucker punch BECAUSE HE WAS LOSING - just a laughable tussle between family members. 

He groaned with frustration. His mother was under the delusion that somehow the boys would work their differences out and become...what was it she kept saying? The best of lads one day. That family members that tend to fight and spit venom at one another in youth grow to be the closest of all friendships when older. Jon had noticed quite early on that she had a rough time sounding confident in her statements upon the matter. 

Stupid, arrogant, Viserys. Jon had tried continuously to placate the elder boy. Nine years spent in exile together - every day an effort to get along, to find common ground. And there were moments - so many moments - where Jon truly felt like their relationship was turning around for the better. Only for it to all come crashing down like the force of the fist that blackened his eye that morning.

He sighed. He wanted to hate his Uncle. Hate the stupid smug face that sat across from him during mealtimes, hate the poisonous glares he would sometimes shoot at his mother when she took any misstep moving them about to keep them safe or the way her berated and harassed Daenerys, hate his stupid silver hair and purple eyes that matched his dead father’s. The fact that he looked more the part of a Targaryen king than Jon could ever hope to be. 

But he couldn't. It was hard to admit. He was family and despite his shit attitude at times, there was a likeable side to him that Jon couldn't deny. 

Viserys was the one who snuck Jon and his sister out when their current residence became too suffocating. He was the one who gave Jon his first drink of ale, the one who beckoned the pretty bar maiden over to give Jon his first kiss (outside of Dany who had kissed him once when he was nine - much to his bewilderment and annoyance). 

Then again, he was also the one to run to Dany to tell on him. She was absolutely beside herself, and then in a streak of vengeance declared her undying love for the manse’s stable boy and that she was going to run away with him. This was over two years ago and the two best friends had made up long since then - like they always do whenever they fought. It actually brought a slight smile to Jon’s lips to think of the humor of the situation - though he did feel bad acting so dishonorably. He just wanted to see what it would be like to kiss a woman who wasn't betrothed to him since near infancy. 

Lightning cracked the sky with booming thunder to answer it's call. The room’s small window rattled angrily with the gust of wind the storm had brought. Aye, bad omens with a storm this ferocious - his mother always said so. But his mother often said a lot of outlandish things that Jon hardly took seriously. 

Amongst the rattling staccato of his window pane came the sound of his door creaking open. He turned his head to to spy Daenerys awash in the orange glow of a small candle in her hands.

“Dany? Are you okay?”

Wordlessly she shut the door behind her, placed the candle down on a small end table and scurried excitedly into his bed. He was met with several jabbing kicks to his sides as she plopped down next to him and made herself comfortable. 

“It’s pouring down right now! I've not seen it rain like this in over a year!” she said jovially, violet eyes glimmering with mischief. 

“Dany you're not a little girl anymore! You can't come to my bed because you're scared of the thunder.” He rolled himself to face her, disapproving frown etched upon his face. 

Several years back in their youth it had almost been a tradition for her to come to him during the heaviest of storms. It was on stormy a day quite like this night that her mother had passed. The memory of her face then floated before his eyes - tears hidden under the torrential downpour but still twisted in heartbreaking devastation. He held her close to him as they cried together when Rhaella was lain upon the funeral pyre. 

Her face scrunched up in offense, “You think me to be afraid? Nay I'm not afraid of storms anymore, I've grown out of that since my Tenth year.”

He sighed. His betrothed was excitable and like all girls her age, annoying. But he often liked the mischief that played in her eyes, and he liked her fun personality above all else's. 

“What do you want then?” he didn't mean to sound so brutal, but he had quite the rough day and didn't want to deal with her obnoxious wiles. 

She hummed at this, “It's your nameday. I thought I'd stop by and give you your nameday gift…”

He rolled his eyes and groaned, “That's tomorrow. Why can't you be like a normal person and wait until the morning?”

“It’s midnight! It's morning enough!”

He knitted his brows together in frustration before deciding the struggle of shooing her away too great. “Alright.” He sighed, exasperated, “what is it then?”

She leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the lips.

Jon’s eyes widened in shock and a furious red blush encroached upon his cheeks. She pulled away and cupped his face in her hands, a softness in her eyes he'd never seen before. Dany hadn't kissed him in years, since long before she had flowered into a woman. 

He shook his head to clear it of nervous (and yet oddly enthralling) thoughts that struck in his mind as split fast as the lightning outside struck the ground. It was disorienting. “Dany...you shouldn't do that. This is...coming to my room like this is improper. We're not children anymore. The implications…”

She cupped one of his hands upon her breasts over her nightgown, a sigh of contentment escaping her lips. Jon sucked in a breath of air, startled by her lascivious act. It took everything he had in him to pull away, the softness of her breast giving him a near insurmountable pause. It was like touching fire made flesh - so quickly he tore his hand away -heartbeat quickening to match his agitated breathing. 

Her eyes fell and she pouted prettily. This wasnt going the way she had intended. What had gotten into her?

Much to his horror, he felt the blood rush from his head to his manhood, something that tended to happen more and more frequently as he got older. He scooted farther away from the daft girl, attempting to get a hold of the situation and mentally will his growing hardness away, “Dany! What in the seven hells are you doing?!” 

She continued her childish sulking and turned away from him to lay upon her back, silver hair fanned out behind her like a soft halo in the pale candle light. Jon considered ever so briefly about reigning in his indignation, to answer her sulleness with apology. But this what she tended to do when in his presence. Pout when she didn't get her way, wind him up around her delicate little fingers. Not now. He couldn't let himself give in. 

“You're a man now…your fifteenth year.” she said softly, a bit of sadness and longing tinging her voice, “I had thought to give you a man’s gift...I had thought to give you my maiden head tonight…”

Her words slid past him, as intoxicating as milk of the poppy, difficult to register in his lust filled daze. This wasn't right. Not now. Not here. 

“Dany...I...thank you, but I can’t accept. It would be a dishonorable thing to do…”

“We are to be wed in several years time! I don't see why it would be dishonorable if we’re already promised to one another!”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trying his utmost to ignore the painful throbbing in his breeches. He had to admit that Danearys looked absolutely stunning in dim light, lightning occasionally casting silver fingers of rain upon his window and onto her visage, giving off a dreamlike effervesce to her reclining form. Her gown was loose, and low cut as most dresses in Essos were, giving him a hint of the curvature of her small breasts peeking out along the hemline. 

When had she grown so beautiful? He hadn't really taken the time to notice until this very moment. He always knew her to be pretty, for sure, but not like this. To him, for all the time he had known her, he had only seen her as his best friend, his aunt, and that some day, far into the distant future that the youth tended to disregard or ignore, his wife. 

When had they grown so fast?

“I um…” he swallowed hard, torn upon the precipice of decision. To do the right thing or to give in? It should be easier than this to make the correct choice, heady desire be damned. “We should wait until after we are wed Dany…” he respected her too much to defile her on this stormy night, at this late of an hour. “I want to do right by you…”

She sighed and relaxed her body a bit more, his words having the slight desired effect of alleviating some of her gaurded tension. “I just don't understand why we aren't married already. I got my first moon’s blood two years ago…”

He chuckled a bit at that, allowing him to relax as well, “What is it with maidens your age desiring to be wed off so fast? We have all the time in the world for marriage. Why not wait on it?”

“And what is it with boys your age being so cavalier about it? You’re eventually going to need an heir, Aegon. The responsibility of continuing our family’s line rests entirely upon this fact.”

He frowned upon hearing his truename, “Don't call me that...It’s dangerous if overheard and...well Its weird to hear.”

She turned to him, eyes crinkled in indignation, “You're going to have to embrace it eventually! You don't want to admit it but you're always running from your responsibilities!”

She wasn't wrong. He tried his best to uphold a strong sense of honor and morality, pounded into him since his youth at his mother’s insistence. She called it Northern Honor - the strongest in all of the Seven Kingdoms. But his responsibilities, the expectations lain upon his shoulders...he didn't want any of it. He didn't want the Iron Throne, didn't want to lead armies against Robert Baratheon, didn't want to avenge a dead father who left them all in this mess in the first place. And that was just the begining. He couldn't even begin to fathom something as fantastical sounding as the Long Night. Didn't even really know what it meant. 

He considered briefly on how to respond to her, thinking on how agreeing with her may offend her even more. 

Instead he simply replied, “Dany...you should probably go back to your own bed.”

She sat up angrily, eyes wet with unshed tears, “You don't even love me! You don't even care!”

Something in him softened and threatened to break. Of all the burdens placed upon him, Dany was never one of them. She was his respite. A place of safety where he could be himself, where all the obligations of his destiny melted away. His only true friend. 

He reached out to grab her hand before she could storm off. “Dany, come on...of course I love you. How could I not? You're the only person in my life that makes all of this truly bearable.” his eyes pleaded with her own for some sort of understanding. Perhaps he had been too cold with her? The ice in his veins acted upon too brutally? She wanted to be intimate, exposed, just for him and he shot her down. 

She sniffed, anger and emarassment still smoldering in her eyes. “You say that word as if you're saying it to a friend or family member. You're not in love with me.”

She knew him too well. He said it exactly the way she was implying. Because she was those things -all of those things. And it was confusing and disorienting on a night like this and with her so impossibly close. It was hard to sort through any of his feelings. This was a new side to Daenerys he'd never seen before, never imagined existing. It would take time to register her night and day transformation, and he couldn't say the words now and mean it. 

Instead he settled on pulling her into an embrace and laying her down upon his chest, hand cradling the back of her head to hold her close. This was familiar territory right here. This could be processed and understood as the love he means to show her. Falling into the routine of embracing one another during the storm, an echo of a childhood that had slipped past his fingers like sand in the wind.

“I will always love you, Daenerys.” He kissed her upon the brow, and then again chastely on the lips.“just give me time to grow a little bit. It's only been about an hour since I've become a man of fifteen after all. I've had more experience being a child than a man grown.”

She laughed at this, and nodded her head in agreement. “I'm sorry I'm always so pushy...I just wanted to show you what you mean to me.”

He sighed in contentment, finally settling down to rest, Dany’s own breathing becoming soft and relaxed. “Aye Dany. And you mean the world to me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some of you wanted more Rhaella - don't worry, there will be. Like I said, the chapters will go back and forth over the events of this haphazard AU. This is super fun to write! Thanks for your support guys. Loving the comments.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize at once to any Elia fans. This is by no means my opinion on her - the harsh words are coming from two very Rhaegar biased characters.


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